Night's Children: De Rerum Natura
by Nymbis
Summary: A Night’s Children three shot. The loss of their brother makes the world seem a little darker. Art and Zahi, attempting to cope the morning after the Cold Fire ceremony. Between Books Two and Three.
1. Pathos

_Night's Children: De Rerum Natura_

**The nature of things.**

**Summary: **A Night's Children three shot. The loss of their brother makes the world seem a little darker. Art and Zahi, attempting to cope the morning after the Cold Fire ceremony.

**AN: **This little scene was meant to go into book 2 or book 3, but it didn't seem to fit in either so I decided it was better suited as a three shot. Set sometime during book 3.

**Part One: **Pathos

He knew the sun was filtering in, could feel it on his face. But he didn't stir from beneath the covers, wrapping his arms around his pillow tightly as he buried his head into the soft folds of the fabric. To wake would be to realize, to realize could only end in a profound disappointment. While his mind was still only partially conscious, his heart knew that this morning would not be pleasant. He understood that something terrible had happened.

His arms clenched tighter as his face buried deeper into the pillow. The sun was positively blinding now, mocking his pathetic attempts at hiding. It was burning, making his eyelids turn a searing pink in color, and he knew that he could not feign sleep any longer.

His brown hair jutted up at awkward angles from the top of his comforter, now noticeable that he had kicked the heavy blanket off of him. He inhaled the sharp, clean scent of the pillow and tried not to think about how _he _would always do the laundry.

The man, a boy really, curled into a fetal position as his hands clenched even tighter and his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to wake up. He never wanted to wake up. He wanted his lone-gone mother, Imy, or Zahi.

Art didn't want to wake up knowing that his brother was dead.

xXx

He was as mechanical as a well-oiled robot as he cautiously poured the cereal into the bowl. He was extra patient as he added the milk, making sure that it was in equal portion to the cornflakes. After he was satisfied, he meticulously drained what was left of the orange juice in the fridge into a small plastic cup.

As was his habit, he licked the pad of his thumb and slowly opened the newspaper, his coffee-colored eyes scanning the headlines. Silence reigned in the apartment, not altogether uncommon as he was always the first one up, but still something seemed to be missing. He straightened his shoulders and turned the page, his other hand absently reaching for the glass of juice. When he found it, he brought it up to his lips and took a sip.

It wasn't until he sensed the tangy taste of it hit his tongue that he realized he hated orange juice. Zahi never liked orange juice.

Trysten had drank orange juice.

Angry and confused and hurt, Zahi stood up calmly and chucked the cup at the far wall of the kitchen, where it connected and exploded in a hail of shattered glass and pulp. He then sunk to his knees, as routine faded and reality seeped in.

XxX

**It's not much, but I felt like I just had to write this. Seeing as Book Three is totally in Aria's point of view, we don't really get a feel of what's going on with the other characters. Art and Zahi would be particularly effected by what happened in **Nox Noctis, **so I wanted to give them a short little fic.**

**Until next time**

**!nym!**


	2. Logos

_Night's Children: De Rerum Natura_

**Part Two: Logos**

_Slice, clomp, stab, chomp. _The knife sliced through the substance like it was butter, the fork stabbed it with an unnecessary amount of vigor, and the mouth clamped down on the rubbery substance, tasting nothing. The egg was ground and swallowed, but he ignored the sensation of bile creeping up his throat. A sip of water, and the process was repeated.

Across from him, on the opposite side of the booth, emerald eyes watched the boy cautiously, not liking the viciousness behind the rhythm of his cuts. Art sighed slightly as he watched Zahi devour his food and pretend that nothing was wrong.

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and the pair had just sat down at a local diner for breakfast. Neither wanted to be in the apartment, so when Art had finally pried himself out of the bed and into the real world, Zahi had asked him if he wanted to go grab a half-decent meal. He had stared at the mess in the kitchen and sluggishly nodded.

And now they were here. Art stared at the older boy with concern. He was hiding, the former _servus _could tell, the hands that were clutching onto the cutlery so desperately were shaking, after all. The signs were there, Zahi had not blinked, spoke, or looked up from his plate since they had arrived.

Art just shook his head, trying to ignore that foreign feeling that was making its way into his throat, chest and stomach. That constricting, painfully beautiful emotion. It felt like a hole, and he noticed that he wasn't able to breath quite properly this morning.

A rather loud screech brought Art's attention back to Zahi, who had scraped his knife across the plate, his brown eyes looking determined.

The process continued, Zahi slicing at something that wasn't there, while Art tried to avoid the urge to break down and clutch his head in his hands until everything went away. It was unbearable, smothering. Art felt his vision begin to get blurry, but he forced their incriminating presence from his eyes. He refused to be the one that broke first, he didn't want to be the _vulnerable _one.

The tension in the air escalated, and finally, the youngest of the once three couldn't take it anymore, "Why are we here?" He eventually asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Silence reigned, and Art felt something within him deflate, knowing that Zahi had chose to ignore him.

But just as he was about to give up hope, he heard a soft response, "Because I _can't _be there."

Art swallowed, and it felt like tacks, "We have to go back eventually."

Zahi slammed his knife down on the table and sent him such an intense, warning glare, that Art's next words faded in his throat. "I'm not an idiot." Was all he said, sending a vicious stare to the untouched hash browns on Art's plate, "Eat your food."

He wasn't hungry, "Fine." He muttered, as he copied the process Zahi had been undergoing.

The check came. They paid, with a tip. And life seemed to go on for that fraction of a second, despite the bitterness that was beginning to fill in one, and the hurt spreading through the other.

OoO

When they finally mustered up enough courage to retreat back to their home, the first thing Zahi did was mechanically pick up the shards from the shattered cup on the floor. Art watched him for a few moments, wincing whenever a shard caught on Zahi's careless hands, leaving a trail of red that disappeared almost as instantly as it had come. The French teen ignored the boy and his sympathy, but when he could no longer bare the stare, he tossed a wet rag at him. Art caught it effortlessly and began to sop up the sticky juice.

His hands dug at the unrelenting floor until he realized that he had scrubbed hard enough to remove some skin from his knuckles. Red and puffy, he gazed at them, until he despondently dropped the rag onto the floor and sat on his knees, staring blankly.

Zahi had finished cleaning up his mess long ago, but continued to toy with the tiny shards of glass he had in his hand, twisting them absently. "I suppose…" He started, his voice as flat and calm as it always was, "That you need to talk about it?"

If it had been any other person, they would not have picked up on the irritated tone that slightly clung to his words, would have missed the hesitance and disgust that came. But Art wasn't any other person, he had lived with Zahi for five years, worked the labor pits of Nefandus with him. He knew when he was upset, "I would." He whispered, his hands curling into a fist that gave him such a reliving feeling of pain as it irritated the newly-acquired sores.

Zahi just nodded, resigned, "I'll make coffee."

Sluggishly, he stood up and gingerly placed the broken glass pieces into his pockets as he stood up and fell back into his routine. His terribly comfortable routine of being the older brother, the responsible one, the rock.

And Art fell back into the routine with him. Back into being the naïve little boy he was five years ago, constantly looking for reassurance and guidance. He too got to his feet, and made his way over to their table, sitting and trying to convince himself that he was real. Not just a shade, even if that was how he was feeling.

Moments later, Zahi sat across from him, carefully placing a mug in front of him. Milk, no sugar. Art cringed a bit inside when he remembered that he always had sweetener added to the bitter drink, and that it was Trysten who hated sugar. But he didn't have the heart to correct Zahi, nor did he have it in him to drink it. He simply settled for tracing his forefinger around the coffee mug's rim, absently dipping his finger in accidentally. He didn't feel the burn.

Zahi kept up the trend of the coffee just for appearance's sake, as he too lifted the mug, didn't drink, and then set it back down. "What do you want to know?" He finally stated.

Art just shook his head. Silence reigned and he finally managed to choke out a single, "Why?"

His counterpart snorted, "Why else? Inner pressure. Weakness. Surrender." He sneered, "It happens all the time."

While his words stung, Art cleared his throat, "That wasn't what I was asking." He clarified.

Zahi sent him a questionable look.

"Why did you throw his cup at the wall, Lance?" Art questioned as cautiously as he could.

"Don't call me that." He muttered, "It's not my real name."

The younger boy shrugged, "It's Lance who saved me at Nefandus, and Lance who helped Trysten and I avoid Followers for five years," His green eyes darkened, "I don't like Zahi."

"Lance is dead, he burned up with Trysten in that fire," Zahi scoffed.

His words were meant to be cruel and cutting. They served their purpose, as Art fell silent.

"_Lance _is the one who promised a dying goddess to protect her son." His tone darkened, "Zahi is the one used to letting people down." The bitterness was almost tangible as he continued, "Zahi's a failure." His fingers clenched around the handle, blanching his skin.

Art twitched slightly in his seat, not knowing how to counter that. When he spoke next, it was hesitant, "I miss him already."

Zahi flickered his eyes from the coffee mug, "I miss Trysten too." He whispered.

Art shook his head yet again, "Not just Trysten. I had meant Lance, and I miss-"

"Get used to disappointment then," Zahi spat, sitting up abruptly as he took his coffee mug and pitched it into the kitchen sink, the hot, brown liquid sloshing all over his hands. He turned and faced Art, "I'm going to go out and get drunk." Was all he stated, flatly and casually, as he stormed out of the apartment. The door echoing from the heavy slam.

The boy who lost two brothers watched him leave before he exhaled to himself, cradling his head in his hands, "I miss having a family." He muttered.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I hope I'm making these scenes realistic. I've been drawing from my own experiences, so I know not everyone will think these reactions are honest. But … meh….

More Zahi introspection up next. And a little insight elsewhere…

Thank you **Shadow Goddess Akhet **you da bomb!

One more chap left for this, then back to _Cetera Desunt._

Till next time!

!nym!


	3. Ethos

_Night's Children: De Rerum Natura_

**Part Three: Ethos**

The shot glass slammed down on the table, and he felt anger course within him when he discovered its effect was only a slight blurriness in his vision. He cursed the Atrox under his breath, not for the first time, because it wouldn't even let him get drunk properly. He lifted a finger into the air, the silent signal for more, and the bartender placed another shot of bourbon down on the counter. Zahi tossed his head back and downed it effortlessly, and another finger shot up.

After about the sixth one, the bartender began to look at Zahi with concern, but one stare into his fiercely burning eyes told the bartender to mind his own business as he returned to cleaning out glasses.

Another. And another. Still no achingly sweet stupor assaulted him, and he realized he was beginning to run up quite a tab. He placed his elbows on the countertop and breathed in slowly. His head was spinning and he couldn't even blame it on the alcohol.

A bitter taste found its way into his mouth as he remembered the conversation with Art back at the apartment a little over an hour ago. On the one side, he was irritated with the kid's naivety, and annoyed at his pitiful assumptions. On the other, he felt remorse flow through him because he realized what he was doing. He had failed Trysten, and now he was pushing Art away in his misery. Fingers clenched around the empty shot glass. He couldn't grieve, it wasn't his place. Zahi had been dealt with more than his share of misery over the years, and he wasn't about to jump back in.

Why couldn't Art just follow his lead?

He tossed back another shot, stupid kid.

A stupid kid with stupid regrets.

He wasn't even sure which kid he was thinking about. Art and Trysten had melded in his mind, and he felt like he could hold Art accountable for Trysten's shortcomings.

Even as he thought it, he knew he was just avoiding blaming himself.

Art. Trysten. Both children, children he had promised to protect. The bitter taste acquired intensity as his mind subconsciously drifted back to a pair of beautiful emerald green eyes and a breathtaking smile. Eyes and a smile that, once upon a time, he had fallen in love with. He exhaled, he had failed them both, Stanton and Serena. While he could honestly give a rat's ass about Stanton, old grudges tended to die hard with him, the mere prospect of disappointing the almost ethereal Witch Goddess made him want to lie down and forget forever. Inwardly, he thanked whatever god was listening that Trysten, for the most part, followed his father in terms of appearance, and Zahi didn't have to face the damning viridian of _those _eyes each and every day.

A sour smile spread across his features, not one of joy or even sick amusement. It was the type of smile that a man made when he severed all attachments from everything. He called for another bourbon, and raised his shot glass in the air, "_Pour vous, ma belle._" He muttered, the swirled the amber liquid for a moment, "_Et vous, mes freres." _He added as an afterthought before he slammed it back. This time, the drink gave him a burning sensation as it wormed its way down his throat and he exhaled sharply from his nostrils.

"Isn't it bad luck to toast to the dead?" Came a low voice from the side of him.

Zahi let out a snort of disbelief, he hadn't even heard the…stranger approach, "I enjoy taking chances," He muttered, ordering another bourbon.

"I can see that," Came the stranger.

Silence reigned as Zahi once again attempted to douse himself in copious amounts of alcohol, until the words came out of his mouth before he realized he was thinking them, "And to what do I owe your _glorious _company?" The question was a far more scathing tone than he had ever used before.

"To what do I owe your hostility?" Was the smooth reply.

"You're not him anymore, you won't fool me." Zahi responded, still facing forward.

"I'm just the same as I was a week ago, Lance." The sound of a stool being pulled out echoed, as the stranger with the all too familiar voice sat down beside him, "Just more aware."

Zahi snorted and began to trail his fingers up and down the glass. He knew why _he _of all people would be here, for him. And he wasn't exactly looking forward to the next confrontation, "Art?" He asked.

"I'll be visiting him next."

He sighed and leaned back slightly, "You never answered my question." He looked at him, straight into the hauntingly blue stare, "Why are you here, Trysten?"

A smug grin, that would have never appeared on the _real _Trysten's face, crawled across his features. Zahi inhaled sharply at how the simple expression made the reclusive, sad little boy he had known morph into Stanton's twin at his most sadistic. "It's willing to take you back, Zahi. You and Art."

He wanted to deny that the statement sent a delicious thrill up his spine, but Zahi would have been lying, "And if we refuse?"

The grin faded, replaced by a cold and determined glare, "Then I've been given permission to eradicate both of you."

A snort escaped his nose as he ordered another shot, this time he nursed it, "And after that, then what?"

Trysten's upper lip twitched, "The Atrox's affairs are none of your concern unless you accept my offer." He continued smoothly.

The French teen took a sip of his drink, "Allow me to venture a guess? The _Incinti _want you to track down and recruit or kill all of those that were once close to you, in order to ensure _commitment_." He held up a finger, "I'm obviously the first, due to the fact that you think I'll be an easy conversion because of my own weakness. You think I'm like some pathetic ex-junkie itching to get another fix." His eyes coolly evaluated Trysten, attempting to see if he got a reaction. It was there, hidden underneath the faintest of scowls, he lifted another finger, "Then you'll go after Art. Depending on whatever my fate has in store for me, Art will be powerless. If I rejoin, you believe that Art's willpower will shatter, and he will follow. If I choose to be defeated, and you know you have the power to destroy me, than Art will be such an emotional wreck he'll be an easy takeover." He almost chuckled at the deepening of Trysten's scowl, "Kindly correct me if I'm wrong."

"Are you finished stalling?" He ground out, obviously irritated.

"Not quite," Zahi continued, taking another sip. "Because we're not all that are on your hit list, are we? There's still shy, quiet Riley Zalank to think about." He laughed, "Your vicariously living hope, who you burdened with your fall almost as much as you burdened Art and I." His tone picked up a detached amusement, "If you're going to destroy her, you should have gone after her first. There's been a lot of rumors circulating around that Tymmie's been _very _interested in what happens to the _Lecta._"

Trysten's fingers clenched against the countertop, and Zahi recognized the signs of agitation in the way his jaw ticked, "Stop trying to distract me, Zahi, and make your choice."

Zahi just saluted him with the shot glass, "But you know that it's not just my choice, don't you Trysten? It's as much of my own personal decision as yours was. You're making me be _responsible _again."

"It's in your nature, your most obvious weakness." Trysten quipped coldly.

"And I suppose it's in _your _nature to become cruel and callous?" Zahi retorted, "I guess that whole apple falling far from the tree analogy is true after all."

The silence that followed only escalated the tension between the two before Trysten spoke as flatly as possible, "_Never _make the mistake of comparing me to my father again." His fingers tightened their grip, "I will become so much worse."

Zahi just exhaled, not wanting to indulge Trysten on his pity-train. "You allowed yourself to fall, Trysten, and now you want me to make the same choice. To make the decision for not only myself, but for Art as well." He downed the rest of the bourbon, "If you think that I'm going to just calmly walk into this, then you are sorely mistaken."

Trysten gave a curt chuckle, "I know you want it, Zahi, it's been gnawing at your insides ever since I met you. You want the freedom, you want to unleash your darkness."

"What I want sadly no longer concerns you."

The newest Prince of the Night gave him a calculating look, "But you're resisting, why? There's nothing for you amongst the hopeful. You're only going to end up hurting them, we both know it, the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. One day you're going to break, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself. _That's _your true nature, Zahi, just like it's mine. So why fight it?"

Zahi stared contemplatively out into space for a few moments, his fingers absently toying with the glass. On the shiny countertop, he could see Trysten's polished reflection on the surface, expectantly awaiting his verdict. But, he saw something else in the countertop for the first time, he saw his hesitance, his fear. He saw Trysten's fear of rejection, he saw the little boy he had met five years ago. He saw another person entirely in that counter. His mind drifted to another lost boy, one that he knew now he had to watch over. A bittersweet smile crept onto his face as he slowly pulled out a few bills to pay for his drinks.

"I'm not going to fight you Trysten," He announced coldly.

When he saw the relief flit through his azure eyes, Zahi had the answer he had been looking for. "Then come, we'll arrange a Cold Fire-"

"And I'm not going with you." He continued.

Trysten's eyes flashed phosphorescent, "What?"

"I have something to connect me to this place," Was all Zahi said simply as he pulled on his jacket.

Anger clung to the younger boy's words, "And what would that be?"

Zahi turned around and looked at him for possibly the last time, "Something you've forgotten Trysten." With that, he continued to walk towards the door, not even waiting for Trysten's response.

"I won't offer again," Trysten yelled out after him.

"I know." Zahi whispered to himself, as he closed the door behind him.

He knew Trysten wouldn't follow him, there would be no epic battle that night.

And he was right.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Art had been staring at the kitchen clock for the past two hours, worry overtaking him every time the minute flashed and the door to the apartment remained closed. His eyes continued to train themselves on the digital numbers as they mocked him in the distance. Fear filled him as a million anxieties bombarded his mind. What if Zahi had left him alone forever? What if he disappeared like Trysten? Despite the fact that he was fifteen years old, Art felt like a helpless child.

His eyes refused to blink, and were tearing up due to the dryness.

When he finally heard the door creak open, he almost fell off his chair, "Zahi?!" He questioned pathetically.

"I'm home," Came a muffled, and slightly slurred response.

When Art looked at his older brother, he knew immediately that something dramatic had happened. His eyes weren't as clouded over, and his posture was less carefree. He seemed determined, and Art wasn't quite sure how to handle it, "Did something happen?" He asked carefully as possible.

Zahi met his stare, and Art was amazed at the renewed intensity, "We can get him back." He said sternly, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Art was torn between laughing hysterically in relief or checking Zahi's sanity. Instead, he settled for a wry half grin, "Yeah." There was silence before he awkwardly moved off his chair, "I'm going to go to bed." He muttered, slowly retreating.

Zahi just nodded, looking worn out, "Good night."

"Night." He mumbled, still somewhat in a daze as he entered his bedroom.

As soon as Art had left the kitchen, Zahi went to the fridge and grabbed the other carton of orange juice in the fridge. He carefully sauntered to the sink and unscrewed the lid. He stared at the drink, amazed at how something so trivial seemed to mean so much to him. Taking a huge gulp of the acidic drink, Zahi then dumped the rest of it into the sink before tossing the empty container in the trash can. He knew that having it around would upset Art, and Zahi was, ultimately, _responsible._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next morning, Art woke up readily and calmly as he stared at his ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. He hated to admit it to himself, but hearing Zahi's careful declaration the night before had reinvigorated him, made him feel less alone. Trysten was gone, but there was a chance.

It was something to look forward to when he got up in the morning.

Art rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen, where Zahi sat calmly at the table, skimming through the newspaper headlines and eating cereal. Silently, he poured himself a bowl and began eating it. About halfway through the meal, he couldn't take it anymore and he asked the question that had been on his mind since Zahi had stormed off.

"Why did you come back?"

Zahi turned the page of the paper, and looked up. He took a moment before simply answering, "You're my family." Then returned to his reading.

And Art allowed himself to smile genuinely this time, and he was thankful that at least two pieces of the puzzle were still stuck together.

They could cope with everything else later.

**End.**

**AN: **I know I left you hanging on the Trysten versus Zahi and Art thing, but it will come into play later, I swear. This is just where it needed to end.

Lataz

!nym!


End file.
